


Auntie Vin

by VinHampton



Category: Original Work, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Babies, Childhood, Children, Motherhood, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, POV First Person, POV Original Character, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:05:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VinHampton/pseuds/VinHampton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vin meets her friends' children.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Auntie Vin

"Auntie Vin"

That's something I never thought I'd hear. Me. Auntie Vin. Up until a few months ago I'd never even seen a baby up close before. Never had the chance. Only child, fucked up parents, teen runaway. And it's not like there's all that many babies where I lived when I moved to Russia. Babies were never going to be a part of my life - I made sure that wouldn't happen. I was careful, always careful. 

When I was a little girl, I never played with dolls. I didn't buy into it; didn't understand why everybody was trying to make me hold a little plastic person and pretend to love it. I liked books, stories. I liked to know I could hide away in my room and live in a stranger's head for a few pages, or until I fell asleep. And now that I'm older, I still don't understand why we make little girls pretend they are mummies. What do little girls know of motherhood? What does anyone know of motherhood?

It's different now. It changed when I thought I was going to be a mother. Olive would have been the best mistake I've ever made. I don't know why she changed everything. It's not like I'm any less selfish than I ever was - or perhaps bringing a child into the world IS a selfish act. Is it about love or fear of death? Do people only do it to keep their footprints appearing in the sands after they're dead and gone? Do they do it by default? Some women know they will be mothers - it's all they ever want. So what right do I have to want a child when until less than a year ago, the very thought of one disgusted me?

Two days ago, I met the twins for the first time. They are two weeks old. They look a lot like their parents. There's something charmingly quirky about them, like Red; and something interesting in their expressions, like Moran. Like they're old women trapped in young bodies. I held them. And they were actually different. They have limited means of communicating - still too young to do much more than sleep or cry, but they have different personalities already. Audrey is quiet and watches everything like she's assessing it; Miriam is loud and curious and happy to be showered with attention. Isn't that incredible? These little things and they're already people. Real people. They're soft, too. Tiny hands and the smallest fingernails. And they smell like... oh god, they smell like talcum powder and spit-up and shampoo and they've dimples where their wrists and elbows should be. Miriam looked at me and made faces at me, so I made faces at her. One day, I'll make her laugh. One day, they'll be old enough to say it. "Auntie Vin". 

Olive would be in my arms by now. 

I think about that a lot. Even if I say I don't. I'm drinking far too much whiskey tonight, and smoking. I'm alone, but I should be with her. She wouldn't be doing much. Sleeping. Or crying. Or both. Can they do both at the same time? But I would be holding her, and she'd fit just perfectly in my arms. She'd have her father's eyes, of course. His stare, she'd be looking at me with his staring eyes, and I wouldn't know if she was judging me or loving me. Or both. Can it be both? But she'd be learning, and growing ever so quickly. And someday soon she'd be old enough to say it. "Mama". 

We've started talking about it again, Holmes and I. We don't talk about it much. He never cried for her like I did. Or maybe he did, when I couldn't see him. I know he can feel things, but he is economical with his emotions. And something that's not real isn't worth all that many emotions. Of course he is right. I'm not crying about a baby - that baby never existed. I don't know what it is I am crying about, but it is something I can't hold. 

He said he will try with me if I want to. And I do want to. But I am scared - not only of something happening to it, but of being alone. I'm scared Holmes will realise he doesn't want this after all, and it will be too late. And then it will be difficult visits and child support and another little person not getting everything it needs. Or worse still - it'll be Holmes hiding away in his lab, or "working" for days. And me and the baby alone and wondering whether it'll ever get better. 

I am not sad, don't worry about me. I'm just thinking aloud, I guess. I have everything. I /know/ how lucky I am. I shouldn't still be alive. I was never going to make it past thirty, let alone have to deal with all of this. I'm lucky I have the privilege to be worried about this. And I love what I have too much to take a gamble and risk it all. Holmes doesn't want children - he wants me to be happy. And I am happy. Really, I am. I was never going to be a mother.

And "Auntie Vin" is a lovely name.


End file.
